


Atomic Bombs for Fish in a Barrel

by AliLamba



Series: It's too bad we're easy but don't tell our friends [3]
Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Feelings, Gratuitous Smut, secret bonus scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6101943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliLamba/pseuds/AliLamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not Romeo or Juliet. They're just kids, and they're sort of trying.</p><p> </p><p>sequel to Bullseye for the Wrecking Ball, series now complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You guys. There was supposed to be one and now there are _three_. bad times. But good news it’s like when there was a third jurassic park because happy endings are my motherfucking jam.

 

 

 

This was, really, just a stunningly awful idea.

Veronica slides her napkin across her lips, and offers an excuse to go to the bathroom. Her date smiles kindly (he is a pretty nice guy), and she stands, navigating around other small tables of people as she heads to the back.

She doesn’t have to pee, which is stupid, so she makes herself pee anyway as if it’ll assuage her guilt. She still ends up looking in the mirror, still feels like a raging bitch.

It was Mac’s stupid idea, really. It’s Mac’s stupid friend, but even more stupid is that she agreed to the date in the first place. Veronica exhales loudly and combs her fingers through her hair. Well, she’s not going to order dessert, and maybe that’ll send a clear enough message. Her reflection stares back at her. She worries her lip, wondering if she should text someone, make up some excuse to leave sooner. _No._ This was a stupid idea that she agreed to, and she deserves the experience of sitting across from someone knowing she has no interest in them whatsoever, knowing that she’s being a bitch, and that she’s a mean human being, deep down.

So she fixes her lip gloss a little (as if it’ll help), straightens her skirt, and heads back out to dinner with her date.

“Sorry Duncan, you were saying?”

 

 

She’s walking back toward her dorm, staring at her shoes as she doesn’t so much as walk but amble, unsure if she’s delaying the journey or just beginning a walkabout. She doesn’t quite feel like answering to Mac’s third degree about how it went, mostly because she’s not quite sure herself. Duncan had been polite even in goodbye. He was a good reminder that there are other people in the world, which was sort the whole point. People who shared her interests, had some modicum of intellect and ambition; people who were polite and ordered wine and held out chairs for her in restaurants.

So it should come as more of a surprise, when she finds herself outside of Sigma Tau, staring up at the light on in Logan’s room, trying to decide if she wants to throw a pebble or a boulder.

In the end it’s neither. She pulls out her phone and slides open the keypad.

_Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art though Romeo_

She’s grinning a little to herself, wondering how long to wait before she leaves, when Logan’s window slides open with an audible swish, and then Logan is shouting out of it into the night.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks!”

Veronica holds up her hand. “It’s my cellphone.”

“It is the east, and Veronica Mars is the sun.”

“I was trying to be stealthy.”

“Yeah well come on up, Romeo. Door’s unlocked.”

She grins heartily, thinking that maybe Romeo and Juliet could’ve used a door if they really wanted to, might’ve avoided the whole dramatically ironic suicide thing if they’d just had texting. _She’s not going to tell him._ She passes a decent number of people as she goes, but she’s too single-minded to really acknowledge any of them, particularly as they’re mostly playing video games, and most don’t know her name. _She’s definitely not going to tell him._ Logan’s door is open for her as she gets close to it, and the lightness in her chest is dimming somewhat as she steps inside and closes it with her body, resting against it as she looks at Logan across the room.

He’s sitting at his desk, some amount of schoolwork on the surface in front of him. He looks like he should be wearing glasses, and that mental image is almost too cute to bear. _I’m not going to tell him._

“You look nice.”

She grins, flushing, image of cute Logan in glasses still in her head. _Don’t do it. Don’t tell him._ “I know. It’s my curse. So much for setting that witch on fire.”

“At least you chose a good curse.”

Her grin broadens and she looks down at her shoes. Then she bites the inside of her cheek. She looks up at him. Then she feels vulnerable so far away, so she walks across the room and sits on his lap, resting her cheek on his hair.

“I went on a date tonight.”

Logan’s thumb, brushing over the hem of her skirt, stills. Just for a moment. Then it starts again, all forced nonchalance.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “It went great.”

“Clearly, because: evidence.”

He slips his thumb under the hem just for show.

_I’m not going to tell him._

She pulls back enough so that he turns to look at her. She searches his eyes for something then, some sort of emotion or something, but she gives up looking for the thing she couldn’t name to begin with and kisses him, long and deep, her lip gloss smudging in a way that she’s never really cared about with him. It’s so stupid, that she loves him.

It’s even stupider that she can’t come out and say it, because this knowledge has been living in her brain for a week, and it was only with terrified conversation and half a bottle of wine with Mac last weekend that she admitted it out loud at all, and together they made a plan to set Veronica up on some dates because something clearly had to be wrong with her – Logan was still, well, Logan – and there were actual humans in the world who she could probably love more.

And the thing is – she went on one date – fucking _one_ , and that was it. She doesn’t want to go on anymore. She wants to go out to dinner with Logan, and have him make fart jokes or something, and that’s – that’s just the fucking worst because she loves him so much.

Veronica kisses Logan with more emphasis, because he is responding so well, hand now on the small of her waist as he really breathes into the kiss, opening her lips, slipping his tongue against hers. The quickening between her hips is already there, and she’s ready for it, has been waiting for it, ever since Duncan was asking if she wanted red or white, even as Duncan revealed he didn’t really like video games, even when Duncan revealed his major was fucking _finance_.

There’s something wrong with her, she knows, but fuck if it’s going to get in the way of her intentions right now, and Veronica twists in Logan’s arms, puts a heel on the floor so she can swing her leg over his lap, and Logan is groaning into her throat now, and that’s fucking amazing, even better when her skirt bunches quickly above her hips and Logan pulls her down by her waist, so she brushes up against his erection.

She releases Logan’s lips with a warm hard exhale, and she leans back a little, arms around his neck in a loose embrace, as she really grinds down on him, turning her hips, not pressing too hard but enough so that he’s moaning again, and then he’s palming her breast through her clothes, and it’s such a fucking turn on how good this feels, how amazing she feels doing it, and when Logan starts unbuttoning her blouse with deft fingers she gets another surge of heat because _fuck yes_.

Logan’s got her blouse open and he ducks his head to suck on her skin, and Veronica slides her fingers into his hair to hold him to her, curling her shoulders around his head as his mouth keeps her warm. She knows how wet she is, and she sinks onto Logan’s lap, so he’s groaning into her skin and it’s reverberating through her flesh and she bites her lip to keep from echoing him. Logan’s hand grips her thigh then digs between their bodies, and she feels his fingers on her underwear and then his fingers at her opening, and his _fuck, Veronica_ exhale is enough to confirm how wet she is, especially as Logan slides his fingers up and down her labia, and then he sinks his fingers inside of her.

She’s selfish and needy, and when Logan starts pulling at her, tugging at the strings that hold her together, she doesn’t stop or try to move on to full fucking. She wants to get off on his hands because it’s dirty and it’s what she deserves, for being a bitch, and being a jerk, and before she knows it she’s biting her lip and fisting Logan’s shirt in her hands and she’s fucking _bouncing_ on his lap, his fingers inside of her, his mouth on her breast, and it’s such a fucking _relief_ when she comes, it’s so fucking _earned_ , and it takes a whole long moment to realize what she’s saying into his hair because she’s not really _thinking_ , and what sane person would be thinking _I love you I love you I love you_ while humping someone’s fucking _hand._

Shame and embarrassment sweep through her, and she tries to pull away, but Logan’s got her pinned in all the worst ways and he holds her to him, kissing her neck, saying something into it, and then his arms are around her back and he’s lifting her up with him while he stands, and moves towards the bed.

She squeezes her eyes shut, clinging to him like a barnacle, praying that she hasn’t said something foolish, praying that it was all in her head.

Logan drops her onto his bed. And when he doesn’t jump in after her she opens her eyes, and stares up at him, and his expression is so impassive.

“You love me,” he reiterates, and Veronica feels more ashamed at saying it out loud than she had orgasming in his lap.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She makes a move to roll over, but he pins her hip to the mattress. Her skirt is still trussed up around her waist. Her blouse is still open over her disheveled bra.

“Oh no no no,” he says, and there’s a teasing note to his voice that brings about such a welcome amount of levity. “Sorry Romeo, we’re talking about this.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says, sitting up, reaching for his belt buckle, and Logan pulls his hips away.

“ _Romeo_ ,” he chides, gentle.

“Logan,” she mimics, and he grins.

“You love me.”

She licks her lips. Looks toward the door, wonders if it’s even locked.

“I was under the influence.”

“You were cumming in my lap.”

She flushes.

“Yeah well it doesn’t have to happen again,” she tries to stand, and again he pins her.

“It can happen every day of the week for all I care,” and she looks up at him, and he’s grinning down at her, and then he plants a soft kiss on her lips. He kisses her again, and then again, and then he really kisses her, pushes her back onto the duvet cover, climbs over her so he’s straddling _her_ now, and he pulls her arms above her head and pins her before he pulls back.

“Is this – are you seriously restraining me? Is that what’s going on?”

“I really need to invest in some handcuffs.”

“You need to invest in a good lawyer, Logan, this is – oh my god. Let me go.”

“I want you to talk to me. And if you really meant that you’d knee me in the balls.”

She tries to push her thigh into his crotch, tries to look threatening, and Logan laughs in this surrendering way, letting her go, rolling to the side. Veronica sits up and grins.

“Dumbass.”

He looks up at her from the bed, all warm affection in his gaze.

They’ve been playing it slow, these past few weeks, ever since, well…everything changed so irrevocably. At first she wasn’t able to offer more than radio silence and staying in on Friday nights (her friends got really tired of Scrabble). But then he showed up at her door, demanding a chance to take her to Red Lobster, and how does a girl say no to that kind of romance? No, more importantly, how does a girl go from crying in the parking lot of a national restaurant food chain to having sex in the backseat?

She’s looking down at him, willing herself not to tell him, not to tell him what she’s known for forever, has only been able to admit for seven days. Logan has imploded her life with the ease of someone using disproportionate force since day one, and her heart has disproportionately grown to accept him.

So it is suddenly the easiest thing in the world to open her mouth, and to just…tell him.

“I love you.”

Logan’s grin stretches into a legitimate smile, warm affection into genuine fucking… _love_. It’s awful, it’s too much, and she can barely look at it. She doesn’t want to be in love with Logan Echolls, yet she is, and she’s so consumed with the love that she hardly knows when it started or when it ended up eating her alive. But she does, love him, and it’s unfair for him not to know it.

Logan sits up on the bed, tucks hair behind her ear. “I love you too,” he says, and she doesn’t know why it sounds like a vow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Tell me again why we’re doing this?”

It’s a few weeks later, and Logan is being a very good boyfriend.

“Because you need a reason to go to the gym.”

“I do have a reason to go to the gym.”

Logan slides his hand to her ass, smacks it lightly with his palm.

 “What, to have a butt like mine?” she grins, coy.

Logan bites his lower lip, squeezes her asscheek just a little before moving his hand to a more respectable position given the whole walking around on a sidewalk in public thing.

Veronica slides her hand around his waist and snuggles close.

She looks up at him. Still has the impression he’s not all there, like he doesn’t _want_ to meet her friends in an official capacity, like he’s doing this for _her_. It’s a slightly worrying thought. She tries out a smile.

“It’s going to be so great. We’ve never finished one before.”

Logan inhales deeply.

“Oh good. Then I am most definitely going to the gym after.”

It’s only another block, and then Logan’s opening the door for her, and she’s walking into the fluorescent lighting of Ben & Jerry’s, spying the group easily near the back.

“Girlfriends!” she cheers, relishing the way they all jump up to greet her.

“Thank god, girl, I’m _starving_ ,” Wallace moans, and Piz nods.

“I was seriously about to eat my spoon.”

“C’mon guys, Thanksgiving was, like, two days ago.”

“How did it go?” Mac interrupts, immediately business. “Did your dad _actually_ have a coronary when he saw Logan or was it just like, an outpatient thing.”

“Totally outpatient. Only had to perform CPR for like, ten minutes. Didn’t even call 911.”

Piz laughs. Veronica looks over her shoulder.

“Logan, you coming or what?”

He’s still a few feet away, but when he realizes everyone’s looking at him, he holds out his hands a little. It’s so pathetically cute, how nervous he is (nervous, he’s _nervous_ ), considering the whole _I’m in love with you_ thing.

“Girlfriends?”

Veronica and her friends share a look. She nods.

And they all pile into a dorky group hug.

“Logan, my friend,” Wallace starts, looking too somber for someone holding a bright pink spoon. “I think we’re going to like having you around.”

“Mostly because you might actually hang out now for any length of time.”

“What are you talking about?” Veronica is pulling away, shrugging out of her coat, rolling up her sleeves to get ready for their task.

Piz takes his seat, selecting his spoon. “Remember that time we were all sitting around, talking about Super Smash Bros? No, of course you don’t, because you were playing footsie with Logan under the coffee table thinking no one else would notice.”

“That _did not_ happen.”

“ _Oh yeah_ , I remember,” Logan interjects, sitting down himself, holding his pink spoon. “Because you guys were trying to tell me that Kirby wasn’t the only good character.”

“ _Oh my god,_ ” Wallace is groaning, like he’s really excited to have this discussion later.

“Or wait,” Mac is adding, grinning. “How about the time Logan and I were talking about _Moby Dick_ for an _entire_ semester because we were both in English 315.”

“I didn’t know you had a class together!”

Mac rolls her eyes, and Logan offers an unhelpful shrug when probed for information with eye contact.

“You didn’t ask. And we _did_ talk about it in front of you all the time.”

“Granted, he wasn’t wearing a shirt most of that time,” Piz adds, unhelpful.

Mac takes her spoon out of her mouth. “Not that the rest of _us_ cared. The rest of _us_ could actually hold a conversation with Logan that didn’t involve getting into his pants.”

Veronica looks around the table, cheeks flushed and mouth hanging open. She’s realizing not for the first time that she’s missed a lot of things, is maybe not so observant when it comes to matters of Logan – it’s really been a forest vs trees sort of courtship – and that maybe she’s not so observant in general.

She tries to look haughty as she picks up her spoon. “Yeah, well, I’m glad you all seem to be friends, because it looks like you’re stuck with us.”

“And we’re playing footsie under the table right now.”

“Gross, guys.”

“Logan that is my foot.”

“I know it is, Piz.”

It’s incredible how easily Logan meshes with this group of people she loves, how Logan sinks his spoon into the Vermonster for the first bite, and then they’re all fighting for the good bits, spoon sparring when one of them sees a piece of brownie, booing when someone gets sorbet by accident.

It’s unbearable, almost, how happy she is. She’s done nothing to deserve it really. Veronica thinks, while the ice cream starts to melt, that she should really start working at soup kitchens or cleaning up beaches or donating money to the _Panda Bear Relocation Fund_ … Something, _anything_ , so when her heart feels like it’s going to burst with so much happiness, she’ll know, implicitly, that she’s allowed to enjoy it.

They’re all sitting low in their chairs when the bucket is finally empty, Piz sacrificing himself for the last bite.

“Who wants to take the bucket home,” he asks, not enough energy to even phrase it as a question.

“If I could move I would,” Mac offers.

“I think Logan should take it home. For being such a good sport.”

There’s silence. Veronica opens her eyes. Wallace opens his.

“Logan if you say one fuckin’ thing about Veronica being prize enough already, oh my god so help me – “

“Veronica is prize enough already,” Logan grins, and then the rest of their friends groan and wad up napkins and throw their spoons at him and he laughs, ducking.

“It was worse before they were officially dating,” Mac declares, and Logan slides his arm around Veronica’s shoulders.

Veronica grins and curls her hand into Logan’s shirt.

She really could not disagree more.

 

 

 

 


	2. bonus scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First dates are probably supposed to include actually leaving the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> none of this was supposed to happen. It’s still so totally embarrassing that you guys like this story. But you’ve been crazy nice with your comments, so here’s a bonus/deleted scene. You're welcome - no, _thank you,_ the end.

 

 

 

“So…what do you want to play tonight?”

Veronica is curled up on her twin mattress, just all curled up tight like a ball, quilt around her shoulders and fuzzy pajama pants on. She can’t remember a time outside of final’s week when she’s ever been dressed like this at 9 o’clock on a Friday night – no, that’s a lie. _Her friends_ can’t remember a time when she’s been dressed like this at 9 o’clock on a Friday night. Veronica is too busy trying not to think about anything.

“What Mac? Sorry.”

Mac rolls her eyes, and for once Veronica doesn’t miss it.

“Are Piz and Wallace coming over?”

Mac turns back to her laptop. “No, they had to, uh, make an excuse.”

Veronica forces a dead expression, and Mac spins back around.

“Oh did I say that out loud? I think I was supposed to say they had something really important to do instead. Family emergency. Nuclear missile crisis. Uh. Wallace gave birth?”

“To what, _lies?_ ”

“I think we were going to go with puppies.”

Veronica really resents the laughter threatening the corner of her mouth. She looks down at her bed.

“I’m being a really awful friend, aren’t I.”

She can hear Mac stand up and sigh, cross over to her bed. Sit down. Veronica looks up.

“You’re only an awful friend if you try to make us play Scrabble one more god-damn time.” It makes Veronica’s bad mood crack. A little. “Seriously, no one cares enough about triple word scores. And it sucks when you don’t laugh when we make shit up.”

“You guys said you looked up penixes.”

“Okay, the fact that you’re still thinking about that is slightly worrying.”

Veronica smiles.

“Veronica, you know we love you right?” _Oh no_ , it’s that word again, Veronica’s good mood evaporates. “But seriously, what the fuck? Did Logan beat you or something?”

_No – no, not even close – he would never – I’m the worst –_

There is a pounding at the door.

Both girls’ gaze snap up.

“ _Veronica!_ ”

_Oh no._

Veronica’s eyes go wide. Her heartrate spikes. No, her heart is in her throat, which makes it even worse.

“Is that – is that _Logan?_ ”

Veronica can’t speak; she’s gone mute, she’s gone paralyzed, she’s too overwhelmed to know what to do. More pounding.

“ _Veronica I know you’re in there!_ ”

“ _Holy shit_ he _did_ beat you.”

“No,” she whispers.

“I’m calling the cops.”

“No!”

There’s a silent moment. More pounding.

“Veronica what the hell is going on?”

She gives up, huffs, throws off the blanket, stands. Avoids Mac’s look of confusion as she crosses to their door, anxiety etching her own face. She pulls the door open and the person she’s been avoiding – in person, in her head, wherever – is suddenly right in front of her.

“What do you want, Logan.”

His expression is grim when he sizes her up, then pushes past her, and it’s so absolutely one hundred percent humiliating that her belly feels a thrill at the limited stupid contact.

“You weren’t there.”

She stares at him then, crossing her arms over her chest, door still open as if he’s going to suddenly waltz back out.

“I wasn’t lots of places. Care to be more specific? The moon? The MOMA? The tragedy of Pompeii?”

“You know where.”

Veronica’s shoulders wilt. The bright salmon-colored flyer flits past her mind’s eye. _Sigma Tau Lobster Fest._ And in small letters near the bottom: _don’t bring your shellfish allergy._

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Logan looks at her plaintively. He glances at Mac. Mac still looks totally lost.

“Veronica,” he starts to say, taking a step toward her. Veronica takes a step back, and he stops. He looks again at Mac.

“Oh shit you know what?” Mac is suddenly saying. “I totally forgot – my friend is giving birth tonight and I was totally supposed to be there.”

“ _Mac_ – ”

Her friend stops to look at her, in the middle of grabbing her backpack. Mac’s probably going to want to join Wallace and Piz for free seafood, but she’s still willing to be a good friend, if she has to. She’s not an awful person.

Veronica looks at her helplessly. She looks helplessly at Logan.

“It’s fine.” She sighs. “It’s fine. You can go.”

Mac looks at her penetratingly then, really trying to get a grip on what’s going on. They’ve all been far too kind to her these last few weeks, and Veronica waves her out a bit more emphatically. _Shoo, shoo._

Mac closes the door behind her after a last _call me and I come back with a knife_ sort of look, and the room is disgustingly quiet. Veronica doesn’t want to be the first to speak. She doesn’t want to speak at all, she wants to go back to inertia, to huddled up on her bed thinking/not thinking. And Logan’s making that too damn difficult _without_ suddenly being around.

“What do you want, Logan?”

He moves then, makes noise as he does so, crossing into her field of vision at a six-foot radius.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Not successfully.”

He frowns.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

She holds his gaze for just a moment too long.

“You know why.”

His frown deepens, like, he does know, he knows that this is what he was afraid of.

“Veronica…”

She doesn’t like it when he says her name anymore. She doesn’t like any of it.

“No, Logan, jesus christ, it really shouldn’t be any more difficult to break up with someone you know?”

She makes the mistake of looking at him, at his cranky expression, and it’s such a departure from when she saw him last – _smiling so optimistically in the morning light, waving politely at Mac, nearly blowing Veronica a kiss…_

“I didn’t think there was anything to _break up_ with.”

He works his jaw.

“No, you know what?” he continues, frustration radiating off his tense shoulders. “That’s bullshit. You want to break up with me fine, but you at least have to give me something to break up _with_.”

“What the hell are you talking about.”

“Get dressed.”

“I am dressed. What? _No_. What?”

“I’m taking you to fucking Red Lobster.”

She looks at him then, unabashedly shocked and confused, a curl to her dropped lip and open horror in her gaze.

“You are not.”

“I am. Whether you’re dressed like that or not.”

“Logan I believe that’s called kidnapping?”

“Yeah well I’m going to call it a date. Now are you going to get changed or not?”

She considers it then, really considers the idea of making him take her out to a restaurant while she’s not wearing a bra and hasn’t brushed her teeth and she’s still wearing fuzzy pajamas with little eggs and toast all over them. She crosses her arms over her chest she’s considering it so seriously. But then he’s also holding his ground, just as serious to take her, and she calls chicken before he does.

“ _Ugh_ , fine!” She throws up her arms. “You can wait outside in the hall.”

He smirks. “Veronica, come on. It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked.”

A flush creeps up on her then, starting at her neck and moving right up her face.

“Yeah, well, technically we weren’t dating then, so – “ she points emphatically, “ _out_ , stranger.”

It’s kudos to him that he actually does, rolling his eyes in this over-affected sort of way, pretending to open the door only once – well, twice – on her as she frowns to make sure it’s closed securely after him.

A very petulant part of her brain considers locking it behind him and sweating him out – because, oh that would just feel so good to his smug little attitude – but then she remembers that she doesn’t have an en-suite bathroom like Logan does, and that eventually she’ll have to eat, and that Logan could probably outlast her in the hall. She wouldn’t put it past him to have a granola bar in his pocket.

So she goes about getting ready, vacillating between normal effort, subpar effort, and actually trying to look nice. She ends up with a really weird look, if she’s honest. Tank top over a sports bra, short skirt over flip-flops. Nothing matches in color or style. She’s a mess. She grabs a sweater and her purse and gives up on the rest.

“I’m ready,” she announces, opening her door. Logan looks up expectantly, eyes her from top to bottom. “ _But –_ “ she adds, finger in the air. “With a caveat. You get _one hour_ , and then I’m calling the cops.”

“Two.”

“ _One_.”

“Twenty.”

She almost laughs. “One, Logan!”

He rolls his eyes. Leans off the wall and reaches for her hand. She flinches, he grabs for it anyway, and she glares at his face. “We’re not dating, remember?”

“I thought you said we weren’t broken up.”

“Oh this is not going to go well.”

 

She lets him hold her hand all the way to the car, feeling pretty surly about it, even surlier when Logan walks up to a big black fancy SUV and unlocks it with a key fob.

“Oh, of _course_ you drive a Range Rover.”

He grins and opens her car door for her. “You should’ve seen the car I had in high school.”

“Was it _even_ more obnoxious than this?”

“Oh. Very.”

He looks pretty proud of that fact, and Veronica makes a sound through her teeth about it. She hops in and buckles her seatbelt, ready to go by the time Logan is in the driver’s seat turning on the engine. She cuts him a glance from the corner of her eye.

“Are you really taking me to Red Lobster?”

“Of course.”

It shuts her up, because it’s totally embarrassing to have your words thrown back at you, totally embarrassing to have Logan pick up on this flippant joke she made and hold on to it in this adoring sort of way, in a way that makes her think the he’s remembered almost everything she’s said, because he…because he _cares_ about her, and thinks she’s great.

_It means that I sort of love you._

She turns away from Logan then, stares instead out her window into the night, nearly squirming with shame.

They drive in silence and Logan seems far too at ease with everything, and that is so miserable after awhile when she seems to be in so much turmoil about the whole thing. She honestly thinks that if she knew how to tuck and roll out of a moving car she’d try to attempt it. By the time they’re in the parking lot she’s actively distressed.

“So?”

His leading question draws her attention back to him, back to the way he’s gesturing with the car keys at the red neon sign like it’s lit just for them. She’s honestly a little upset it’s still open, but, she figures, Friday nights in a college town must make for extended hours. Maybe it’s shrimp week. _Ugh, I’m doing it too._

“Logan,” she starts, no clue whatsoever in how she wants to finish it. She looks into his eyes. She looks away. “I don’t want to go in.”

“Hey you promised me a date – “

“I didn’t promise you anything, Logan!”

He’s silent for a beat. Lost with her mood. “What? Veronica – “

“No,” she starts, shaking her head. She fingers the door lock/unlock button. “Logan…you…I…I-I mean…”

“I’m pretty sure that’s how Shakespeare started all his sonnets,” he murmurs under his breath.

Under normal circumstances she would grin at him, in others she might laugh. But her laughing muscles are all twisted up into knots just then, and she doesn’t have it in her to smile.

She looks at him, the car dark save for the neon through the windshield.

“Why are we here?” she whispers, the car too quiet.

He takes a deep breath.

“You know why.”

“I really don’t.”

“Because I love you.”

Her heart twists ungraciously, she can’t breathe for a moment. It’s still so terrifying to hear him say it, and her brows bunch together unhelpfully.

“Then why didn’t you ever give me your number? Ever? Why didn’t you push for it? You say you love me – “

“Veronica.”

It’s meant to make her stop talking, and she does.

“I wanted to. I realized I wanted to a long time ago. But – you didn’t want it. I kept asking and you didn’t change your mind. And so I…and so I stop asking if you would take it.”

She doesn’t buy it. She doesn’t _remember_ it. She doesn’t like _it_ at all. Tears are swimming around the corners of her eyes and she has no _fucking_ idea why.

“Then why even keep seeing me at all? Why even – “ she can’t finish it. _Why keep fucking me? Why keep talking to me?_

“Are you serious?” he asks, in this light, _how obtuse can you be_ sort of way. She only makes eye contact because it’s what she deserves.

“That is so dumb,” she whispers, and she can’t look at him anymore. She’ll look anywhere else in the car, anywhere else in the world. “You’re so dumb,” she adds, because she legitimately hates herself.

She hears his seatbelt unbuckle and then feels when he unbuckles her own, and he does this awful, leaning over the armrest thing to wrap his arms around her. It’s the absolute _last_ thing he should do, because she finally starts crying, starts crying in the way she has been avoiding for weeks, weeks that she knew that he loved her, weeks that she knew she didn’t love him back, was pretty sure she couldn’t love him back, weeks that their relationship thing was over, no matter how much that sucked.

“I don’t – I don’t,” she starts to hiccup. “I _don’t love you, Logan_ ,” she sobs, finally breaking down, breaking down in this really awful way that makes her glad she didn’t wear make-up, because it would be getting all over his shirt.

“Veronica,” he starts, annoyed, and she doesn’t know why he’s annoyed so she looks up at him, and he’s looking over his shoulder, and then he’s climbing into the backseat and she’s sniffling, watching him, and he holds out a hand for her to join him back there. Her lower lip quivers, she wants to say no, and then Logan is making a little annoyed noise through his teeth and reaching for her, drawing her into the backseat, and it only makes her cry harder because she’s a bitch and he’s probably not, and then she’s curled up on his lap.

He’s petting her hair in this really nice way. Tears are still falling down her cheeks.

“You don’t have to love me,” he says. Her chin wobbles. She cries harder for a second. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

He pulls back, trying to see her face, and she can’t make eye contact. He puts a knuckle under her chin and tilts it up, and she can still only barely look at him, so she shrugs one shoulder.

“Veronica, you don’t have to love me.”

She finally catches his gaze.

“I don’t?”

“No – well – okay, so it would suck if you didn’t, because uh, I sort of already shot my wad on that one – “ She grimaces. _Crude_. “All I’m saying is, that, I dunno, maybe we should go out to dinner sometimes.”

“See?” she says, poking him in the chest while fresh tears well around her eyes. “That! That’s what I’m afraid of!”

“What, eating?”

“Y—“ she sputters. “Yes!” She feels kind of dumb. “You know what I mean.”

“Why the hell would you be worried about eating?”

She looks into his eyes, those eyes she really likes, the ones that make her warm all over when they look at her just so.

“You don’t want to do this,” she says, voice quiet.

“I don’t?”

“No! You don’t want to – you don’t want to have to deal with my periods, or, or get my hair in your shower drain. You don’t want to say goodnight to Mac and me both!”

“Oh please, keep going, this sounds exactly like all there is to a relationship.”

She snorts, almost smiles. “I’m serious.”

“I can tell.”

“Logan, things were going well. Right?” He doesn’t quite nod, just looking at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “And, and…I’m awful. You have to know how awful I am. I’m bitchy and I only have like three friends and I – you don’t even _know_ what I was like in high school, because, trust me, I was not the homecoming queen – “

“Veronica,” he stops her, leaning forward, kissing her lightly on the lips. “Last time I checked you didn’t have to be homecoming queen to get laid.”

She mumbles something under her breath. Something that sounds a lot like _bet you were homecoming queen._

“Let me get this straight.”

She picks at the fabric of her skirt, doesn’t want to move, desperately wants to move.

“You stopped trying to run into me because you didn’t love me.”

She looks up, feeling a little braver. He catches her gaze and releases a breath through his teeth.

“Fine, whatever, you don’t love me, you thought we couldn’t keep doing what we were doing, so you became a hermit.”

Her jaw drops open, indignant, on the cusp of denying him. “I did not!” She goes silent. _Penixes is not a word._ “Fine. Whatever.”

“And you don’t want to start a relationship because you don’t think I’d like you?”

“Well when you put it like that!” she starts to complain. She wants to finish with, _it doesn’t make any sense_ , but, that’s exactly _why_ she’d spent so much time inside on Friday nights. It was a lot to think about.

Logan is looking outside the front windshield, as if he’ll understand her better out there. She watches him roll his eyes, shake his head a little, and then turn back toward her.

“Okay, whatever,” Logan starts, one hand on her hip. “So I think we’ve done a pretty good job of talking about the _bad things_ that can come of a relationship.” Her stomach is squirming. “So, okay, not to play devil’s advocate or anything here, but I’m pretty sure that sometimes, there are advantages to making this more of like a real, normal-people thing.”

She’s clearly dubious. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he starts, hand outside her hip starting to move just a little. “Like – well, cheddar bay biscuits, obviously,”

“ _Obviously_ ,” she inserts. “Especially because they don’t just hand those out to single people.”

“Yeah pretty sure I read that somewhere,” he muses. “But then there’s also – I mean, having another contact on your phone, sometimes another Facebook friend…another person’s yearbook picture you get to mock.”

“Joke’s on you I always looked fabulous.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second.”

_Darn. Backfired_.

“There’s also the chance for a new person to meet your parents,” She chokes on nothing. “Someone else to potentially bail you out of jail – ”

“Why, are you planning on committing any crimes?”

She shouldn’t have asked, because she can see by the curve of his smile that he’s thinking crude thoughts, so she rolls her eyes.

“Okay, well, what about morning sex.” He leans closer, brushes hair behind her ear, thumbs her earlobe in this glancing sort of way that seems to awaken some craven part of her. “I’m pretty good at morning sex.”

“Ugh, _morning breath_. See? That’s another thing.”

“I bet your morning breath tastes like marshmallows.”

“Oh – it doesn’t.”

He laughs. Leans even closer. “I’m not sure you’re an impartial judge on the subject.” It’s another leading little comment, supposed to be followed up with _I should probably find out for myself_ , and he’s such a jerk for not just saying that bit out loud. Such a jerk for a lot of reasons.

“Logan – “ she starts to say, again giving up before she’s even got going.

“Nothing big then.”

She looks at him.

“We don’t have to do sleepovers or lobster right off the bat. But we could exchange numbers. Try texting.”

“Texting?”

“Yeah I just figured out the winky face. I need someone to try it out on.”

She almost laughs then. She really does. She pulls the winky face instead, and Logan laughs.

“Yeah, but just – “ he tilts her head sideways. “Yeah. I want to be able to picture this.”

She punches him lightly in the ribs.

He grins, catches her wrist, tugs on her waist, and then he’s kissing her. She tries to make a noise to stop him, tries to kick her brain into danger gear, tries to activate that damn _fight or flight_ reflex, but…it’s…

It’s just him, damnit, he must have qualified in the Olympic trials or something, because he’s just so god damn good at this, the whole kissing thing. He was probably disqualified for using performance enhancing drugs he’s so good at it, so it’s really cheating, that she opens her mouth for him too quickly, that he deepens the kiss so easily, that he’s making little circles on her back that make her sweater ride up.

And it’s just, they fall into it so easily it’s like they’re only made to do one thing – fuck each other senseless – because before she even knows what’s happening she’s trying to yank his shirt off and her sweater’s on the floor and it’s not until the red neon lights go off that she realizes that she’s in a fucking _parking lot_ – and – they stare at each other in the sudden darkness, all _do you want to stop? No I don’t want to stop either_ – because then they’re kissing each other again, and they’re both moaning into each other’s mouths like some fucked up mouth to mouth resuscitation that would definitely _not_ work in a life or death situation.

And Logan’s tugging at his own shorts, trying to get them off, and it would be so damn presumptuous of him if she weren’t trying to pull off her own underwear in this confined space, and their knees and ankles were getting in the way of them getting more naked, until she’s swearing and he’s laughing and then they’re kissing again, kissing until the laughter’s all gone, kissing until she feels warm molten heat all over, kissing until she can feel his fingers skimming through her pubic hair.

“Oh, fuck, Logan,” she whispers, feeling his fingers glance through her sex and its downright excessive lubrication.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Veronica,” he whispers back, and hearing him say it out loud sends an electric arrow of pleasure right down her spine. She can hear the rip of foil in the recesses of her mind, too focused on other things to really appreciate that he had a condom on hand, “And then you’re going to give me your number. Okay?”

She nods emphatically, nearly about to impale herself on him, condom or no, because he’s right fucking there, and she’s hovering right over his lap, hands on the seatback, _aching_ for release. “Okay,” he whispers, his hands testing her wetness again, a hiss through his teeth, then his hands are on her hips, and…she sinks, he guides, and… _yes_.

_Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes._ She sits there for a moment, savoring the high of him inside of her, savoring how much she’s missed it. She’d gone an entire summer without being fucked, well, two, if she had time or mental capacity to think about it just then, but weeks without Logan when she could’ve had him the whole time seems harder, in retrospect, because – well – because of this.

She leans back in the seat, away from his chest, tilting the angle of their bodies. In the limited light she can see his face, his dropped bottom lip, his heady gaze, and she rises, just enough, because she can feel the length of him inside of her, knows it well enough already. She falls, and rises, rises and falls, and fuck if it isn’t going to be the end of her, this feeling.

Why, oh why, was she such a fucking idiot. She would do anything not to go without this again, the way he looks at her, the way she feels when they’re connected, it’s just, it’s a crime, what she wants to do to him, what he does to her. She rides him more, lifting and sinking, grabbing his shoulder with one hand to keep herself from falling, and Logan’s, his breath is going in puffs now, his brow creasing in the way that lets her know he’s close, but – fuck him, she’s closer, and if he doesn’t get off soon then she’s going to leave without him – Veronica bites her lower lip and squeezes her hips around him, lets the hand not being useful for their angle drop behind her back. Logan pushes up her tank top and shoves up her sports bra, exposing her breasts, and she loves that he’s naked and that she’s fucking not, loves that her skirt makes this feel so wanton, and she really digs her teeth into her lip because she’s got like five seconds left in her before she combusts, so her fingers reach for Logan’s thighs, navigates upward, until her fingertips reach his testicles, and she caresses them cautiously, probing his expression for clues. And he can feel her fingers, she knows, because his mouth really drops open all of a sudden, so much more pleasure than pain, and he grabs her hips with both hands, holds her above him, and _slams_ inside of her. And their angle is fucked _up_ because he’s slamming _right into her g-spot_ , and then he does it _again_ , and _again_ – and she goes with a loud crack of some noise from her throat. She goes and he follows, spiraling, tumbling like leaves from dead trees in a fucking tornado.

She’ll leave the metaphors to Shakespeare.

They both tumble back to reality in the confines of his stupidly extravagant car. She leans forward, dropping against his chest, and his arms flop around her, a limp embrace.

“You can’t – “ he’s suddenly saying. “You can’t leave me again.”

Veronica doesn’t know how to respond to that. She holds her head against his shoulder, tries to force a smile it’s hard to feel with other emotions clawing for dominance, devotion among them.

“A deal’s a deal,” she whispers, kissing his skin, before grinning. “442-555-1096.”

It wouldn’t be so cute if he didn’t start repeating it immediately, fervently, as if he’ll actually memorize it in an instant. She bites his shoulder. “I’ll put it in your phone, you goon.”

“442-555-1096,” he parrots, probably just to annoy her. She grins. Looks around the car.

“I may have to change my opinion about this car,” she murmurs. “We might have just become friends.”

Logan laughs a little. Squeezes her tight. Kisses her hair to ease the blow of lifting her hips off of him. She pulls back with a sigh, falling into the corner of the bench, watching unabashedly as Logan cleans up and pulls his pants back on. She’s still looking around the car, trying to figure things out.

“So this is, what, rich parents?”

He raises an eyebrow at her, not at the point of putting on his shirt yet.

“My dad’s a movie star.”

Her eyes might literally bug.

“ _Seriously?_ ”

“Seriously?” he mimics. “You seriously didn’t know?”

She doesn’t answer him, staring at his face like it’ll provide some clue to the truth. She decides she doesn’t care who his father is.

“Yeah, well, my dad’s a cop, so.”

He grins at her. “Don’t try to show off or anything,” he murmurs, tilting himself over her body, kissing her exposed sternum. She giggles and pulls down her shirt, and Logan pulls his head up with a dumb little pout. She curls her finger around his ear, grinning at his cuteness.

“This changes everything, you know.”

“What, my dad being a movie star? That’s pretty old news – “

“No,” she interrupts, drawing her finger down his jaw, grabbing his chin between thumb and forefinger. “ _This_ , this whole…Red Lobster thing.”

He leans forward, breaking her hold, and kisses her again.

“I’m looking forward to it.”


End file.
